The Second Date
by PhantomProducer
Summary: A lot of importance is put on a first date. But what about the second? Does it not really hold the promise of more, more than the first could ever provide? A glimpse into Steve and Holly's second date. Takes place between Chapters 21 and 22 of "At Day's End." A one-shot of the "Of Time" series.


**A/N:** Sorry for putting an author's note at the beginning, but I had to preface this a bit. This has been sitting at the back of my mind ever since I wrote _At Day's End_. Seriously. It's only just now that I decided to write it out. You know, because I haven't written about this particular romance enough. ;) I know, I know, a year and a half later I finally write it, but, oh well. Essentially, this is just outlining Steve and Holly's second date and therefore taking place less than a week after the events of Chapter 21...which I do reference in this as well. Also, this story is UNBETA'ED. This is mostly due to my personal schedule being a little different from others', and therefore harder to coalesce with someone else's. As such, I do proofread, edit, and restructure my own writing. I try my best, but I am not perfect.

Is it cutesy? Yes. Is it fluffy as hell? Yes. I feel no shame for that whatsoever. :)

I own nothing from the MCU, nor any other pop culture references. The lounge is based on the Bossa Bistro and Lounge in Washington, D.C. It looks like a really cool place; wish I could go there. I just own the original character, Holly. Her climes and times in regards to Steve Rogers can be read about in the _Of Time_ series of Captain America/Avengers stories I have (check out the My Stories tab on my page).

Thank you, please review, and I'll see you all later!

* * *

Two days. That was how long it took Steve Rogers to ask her on a second date. Not that they hadn't spoken in between those times; new as he was to texting on a regular basis, he was more than happy to keep in touch with Holly that way. Little messages here and there, teasing and joking around with each other much as they had done before, but the tenor of it had changed. There was more to it all than was on the surface, emotions and feelings brewing now that they were given leave to do so. Their friendship had taken a turn, on the verge of becoming something more. The first date had opened the gates, but the second could either bring on the flood or stem it entirely.

All it took was Steve making the call. On the Monday after their repast in the park, he got in touch with her. They exchanged pleasantries, events of the day shared as they went. He had gotten in touch with Tony, asking about the possibility of meeting up, while she spoke of how her boss' daughter came in to do a reading hour, explaining how she was a doctor and using themed books for it. Holly initially thought it was nice, but once all the bodily function questions started flying, it stopped being cute; at least Steve was able to find the humor in the situation, and laughed when she told him.

"How do you feel about clubs?" he asked when a lull in the conversation happened. Nonplussed for a moment, Holly blinked, shouldering the phone as she reached up into one of her cupboards for a glass.

"Excuse me?"

"Or, er, I guess 'lounges' would probably be a better word," he attempted to explain, the crinkle of shuffling paper coming in from his end. "Anyway, the question still stands."

"Oh, good. So long as you didn't mean the kind where the bass thumps your heart out of your chest and strangers grind on you to the latest techno 'mix,'" she replied, relief flowing through her as she chuckled. After a second or two, Steve cleared his throat, the only sound he emitted in that time. Inwardly, she laughed a little harder; no doubt he was imagining exactly what that looked like. Removing the glass from the shelf and placing it on the counter, she continued, "The lounge-y clubs are alright; I haven't been to a ton, but the ones I've gone to were good. You're asking in regards to...?"

"In regards to, um, a second date," he said, clearing his throat again. Stalled by the fridge door, she felt a rush of excitement and nervousness tear through her. The dinner, the movie...the kiss at the end of the night (which she had initiated, but still, he more than willingly participated)...it wasn't just a one-time thing. Granted, she never figured Steve to be that kind of guy, but she couldn't help but feel elated that he wanted to go out with her again so soon. Hastening to end the brief silence, he told her, "I came across a review for a place in the paper, thought it sounded like a good time. Would you...would you like to go?"

The tremor of his own nerves jangled his voice, and for a moment, she felt her heart ache for him. He still feared rejection, even after all that time. Even after a successful first date. She shook her head, thinking how ridiculous and blind the girls back in his day had been, missing out on such a good man. Coughing once, she thought of what to say as she reached into the refrigerator, withdrawing the bottle of pop from the shelf.

"Sure, sounds swell," she said, affecting a humorous tone to punctuate the use of his generation's slang. When he groaned aloud, she smirked to herself as she poured the drink into the waiting glass. Taking a few breaths, she let the genuine affection she felt for him come through when she answered him seriously. "Really, I'd like to go out with you again."

The smile he must have been sporting could be heard clearly in his voice when he spoke again.

"Thursday night okay?"

"Absolutely."

Promptly at eight o'clock, he'd arrived at her building, ready to escort her. He was dressed smartly, blue dress shirt and jeans, but she couldn't stop herself from tweaking the false glasses perched on his face. It was barely even trying, she groused in good nature. If people couldn't make the connection between the guy with the horn-rimmed glasses and Captain America by that point, then there had to be something wrong with them. Still, he was not about to give them up; he was going for anonymity, as much as he could. Sighing, she took his arm as he led the way out and down the stairs, the skirt of her black dress swishing as they went. It turned out that he was able to work out a deal with Sam, borrowing his SUV for the purposes of driving them over to the place. Parking several blocks away (cheaper parking options for the streets were always welcome, in her book), their hands joined as they paced down the sidewalk, chatting back and forth as they went. The July heat was somewhat softened by the overcast clouds, the humidity manageable as they tripped along the concrete. Heads turned to watch them pass, some people poking each other and pointing out the captain's presence in the neighborhood, which made Steve grit his teeth and Holly tweak the glasses once more.

The club really was a lounge, though it proclaimed itself to be a bistro first on its signage. Outdoor tables and chairs were set up, the fencing for the seating line with flower boxes. Inside, the walls were swathed in red and yellow, brick exposed at intervals. A narrow staircase led up to the art gallery upstairs, where additional space for a second band could set up if necessary. Though the space wasn't particularly large, it was long, tables and chairs dotting the floor before opening onto the small stage at the back. The bar along the left wall appeared to be well-stocked, the pendant lights above providing a warm glow over everything. The lounge had a decidedly lived-in, homey feel, and Holly was comfortable with it right away.

"This is seriously great, Steve," she crooned, eyes wide and looking around the space once more. He turned to look at her, delighted and relieved with how pleased she seemed with his choice.

"Really?"

"Yeah! It's so cool," she told him, smiling and squeezing his hand. "Good find, old man."

Steve rolled his eyes at the derisive nickname, a smirk coming to his lips after a moment. "Thanks, little lady."

That pulled her up short, made her gaze narrow in faux contempt. He shrugged a shoulder, gesturing for her to go ahead of him into the space.

"Ugh," she grumbled, to which he gave her a clipped nod. A palm splayed between her shoulder blades, the heat of the touch bleeding through her dress.

"My sentiments exactly," he retorted.

Given the option of either taking a look around the art gallery upstairs or eating dinner, they agreed to the former. Climbing the short flight of stairs, Steve soon found himself lost in examining the pieces provided, hanging against the exposed brick wall (the false glasses were handed off to be put in her clutch, and Holly gave an inward cheer of exultation at that). The local artist seemed to enjoy working with a myriad of mediums, though it seemed the guy had a preference for dark watercolors and oil paints. Holly, staying close by, would pause at one piece or another, asking him questions about shading or use of texture, which he would answer to the best of his ability. She trusted him to explain it to her, the facet of his life that so many did not see. Well, before the helicarrier disaster, anyway. Her own understanding of art was not as advanced as his, in her opinion, but she was willing to learn and discuss so she could broaden it.

"These are pretty cool," she said when they stopped at the far end, nodding to the wall of canvases they had gone by. Lifting a shoulder, she went on, "Your stuff's better, but this isn't so bad."

While he couldn't deny the surge of pleasure and appreciation her words gave him, he still shook his head.

"We work with different mediums, and have different styles. Not exactly a fair judgment," he pointed out, hooking a thumb at one of the nearby paintings. "It'd be like comparing Monet to Picasso. Or Matisse and Rembrandt."

"Maybe, but you can have preferences," she replied, eyebrows lifting. Biting her lip for a moment, she adopted a serene look, placing her palm on his bicep. "I prefer your sketches, while still appreciating this guy's vision. That sound fair?"

The corner of his mouth turned up. "Nicely put."

She snickered at that. "I'm better with words than with pictures. Mainly when they're written down, but eh, you already knew that." As he opened his mouth to say something (more than likely to contradict her claims) she took his hand, pulling him along and cutting him off with another question. "And speaking of your sketches, do you have anything you're working on currently?"

As they moved onto the next piece, he confessed that he was looking into getting a new charcoal set, wherein she wondered about the differences of working with that instead of graphite. After a few more minutes, they lapsed into companionable silence, taking in the sights before them and nudging one another on occasion. Glancing around the little gallery, Steve took note of the others who were circulating along with them, the old habit of watching out for danger undying. As his gaze glided from one person to another, he spotted a couple of the other men wandering from piece to piece. They, too, were doing more than examining the artwork, eyes flicking over the crowd. The ladies moving in the gallery were, to them, as much a part of the scenery as the featured artist's things. It was then that he caught out a couple of guys skimming past the blonde by the mounted wall sculpture, over the redhead by the abstract painting, and straight on to the girl at his side. Appraising glances slid over her, Holly oblivious to the eyes tracking her across the room, light smirks and an unmistakable look on their faces. He ground his teeth in irritation when he fully realized exactly what they were doing. Irritation, and jealousy.

Rationally, reasonably, he knew there was no basis for it. Men who were interested in women were bound to look at them, and they would like what they saw. He knew for a fact that often it came to nothing. But he didn't like the way they were looking at Holly, taking in the sight of her legs and the curves of her body as she moved. No, he didn't like it at all. Jealousy, unfounded jealousy, was an ugly thing, and it was something he was far too familiar with. At that point in his life, he had hoped that something such as that would not affect him any longer, but it appeared that it simply was not the case. If she'd paid them any mind, he knew she'd just brush them off, ignore them. He may not know the fellows across the room, but he did know her.

Perhaps it was a poor excuse for him to unlace their fingers and instead curl his arm around her, holding her closer to him as they walked. Not that he hadn't wanted to, anyway, but...

Affecting nonchalance, Steve matched Holly's step, his icy blue gaze missing nothing as he looked up again. Wisely, the couple of men who had been staring after her went back to perusing the artwork, the message heard loud and clear. He wasn't some runt for the other fellas to overlook, to push to the side to get what they wanted. Hadn't been when he was smaller, and he most definitely wasn't now. Unconsciously, his fingers shifted, squeezing into her hip.

"You're holding on a little tightly," Holly's voice cut through his haze, pulling him out of his thoughts and back to the present.

Automatically he loosened his hold on her, drawing away and tipping his chin in shame. He knew better than to act like a fool; he wasn't that guy, shouldn't be that guy.

"I'm sorry."

"Didn't say you had to stop. Just, not so hard," she told him, smiling gently, ignorant of his inner plight. Reaching out, she placed his arm around her again, looping her own around his waist. Casting a final glance at the canvas in front of them, she inquired, "You ready to get some food now?"

As if on cue, his stomach growled loudly, and he chuckled sheepishly, "Yes."

"Bet you're starving, huh?" she snickered, pivoting around and leading the way back downstairs. "Bottomless pit."

His eyebrow shot up and he just gave her a look.

"I wasn't the one who finished off the pizzas on my birthday after having cheese curds and cake, that's all I'm gonna say."

"It was Fourth of July," Holly riposted as they made the turn at the bottom of the stairs, standing at the end of the bar. Intercepting one of the waitresses, they were led towards a table along the far wall, slightly shadowed but affording a good view of the band as they were preparing for their set. "It's practically mandatory to eat a lot on a holiday."

Steve shrugged at that, swooping in to pull out her chair for her. Nodding her thanks, she sat down swiftly, the waitress leaving them with the menus and a promise to be back with drinks shortly.

"So long as you're eating, doll, that's fine with me," he replied, picking up the menu and giving it a cursory glance. He knew about the writing jags she got into, wherein she'd get completely involved in the manuscript for her book and therefore she neglected to take care of herself properly. It explained the times when she practically inhaled her food when he caught her after one of those bouts. It took him a few seconds to notice that Holly was staring at him, a mixture mirth and confusion on her face. His brow furrowed; had he done something odd, or wrong?

"Doll?" she asked, head tilting to the side, eyes glittering in the low light. He blinked, shock flooding him as he realized what he'd said. The name—the endearment, his brain chided him to call it what it was—was one that he was not fully conscious of giving her. In his day, it would have been a harmless pet name, one that any guy could affectionately give his girl. Perhaps he was pushing it, so early on; he hadn't even asked Holly to really go steady with him. Maybe she wouldn't want to be called that, if anything.

"Is, is that okay?" he wondered, dropping the menu and laying his hands flat on the table. His gaze lowered to the grainy tabletop before him, bashfulness taking him over. "If it's, I dunno, offensive, or you don't like it, then—"

Her hand brushed over his, the grasp of her fingers stilling his speech. Lifting herself a little out of her seat, she bent forward, placing a peck on his cheek. Blue eyes connected with brown, and she grinned.

"I think it's sweet," she intoned quietly, encouragingly squeezing his hand and sitting back down. "You can call me that, if you want."

She did not relinquish her hold on him; rather, she let her hand rest atop his, thumb rubbing softly across his skin. Picking up her menu again, she focused on it, the line in her forehead that spoke of her thinking hard surfacing. Flicking her gaze back at him, she donned a serious expression.

"Just me, though, right?"

Steve couldn't help but let out a grateful chuckle, turning his palm over and grasping her hand in his.

"Yes, just you," he returned honestly, and both of them went back to choosing what they wanted to eat, similar smiles decorating their lips.

Dinner was tapas, a new experience for both of them. The band scheduled for the evening starting to play midway through the meal. Holly scooted her chair around to his side, his arm easily looping around her. Her palm rested on his knee, index finger tapping to the beat every now and again. With his peripheral vision, he watched as she bopped her head in time with the music, the hair that was left out of her low bun swaying as well. The pads of his fingers slid along her waist, keeping time, too. The mixture of jazz, blues, and funk washed over them, enveloping them in the crowd. The place was packed from table to table, the others there not interested in the least that Captain America and his date had chosen that venue for the evening. Well, most of them; there were a few gawkers, but the staff was helpful in deterring those people and keeping them on the fringes for the night. Hours slid by, and by the time the last song played, they realized it was nearly eleven o'clock. It was time to head out, but they were impeded in their exit. Not by the others, but by something as simple as a change in the weather.

"Oh, boy. I didn't think it would start until after we left," he confessed, eyeing up the steady rainfall filtering in the lamplight beyond the front door. That was true; the weatherman had predicted that the incoming storms would not reach the city until after midnight. He grimaced to himself, not at all surprised that the newscast was inaccurate...again.

Holly dipped her chin, slyly glancing at him out the corner of her eye. "We could probably make it back to the car before it gets worse, don't you think?"

"I don't know if—" He was cut off by her swinging the door wide open, Holly dashing out into the sheets of rain cascading from above. Stunned by her actions, he barely managed to catch the door before it closed. Openly gaping at her, he watched as she stopped in her tracks, turning around to look at him again.

"Come on, Steve!" she called out, waving her hand for him to follow her and laughing.

"Holly!" Shaking his head, he took in a deep breath before charging out after her, the shower turning into a downpour as he chased her down the block. Purposefully, she would turn and tease him as she went, with him holding back on his speed and playing along. The storm crashed and broke around them as they ran, soaking them to the skin in a matter of seconds. On the third block he stopped playing and caught up to her, grabbing her hand and pulling her to a halt. An arch of lightning spread across the darkened sky, the thunder shaking the ground. Crying out, she turned into his embrace and burrowed against his chest.

"I was wrong! I was really wrong," she spluttered, laughing at herself. Tipping her head back, she reveled in the feel of the water coursing over her. For a moment, Steve just watched her, indulging in the moment with her. Soon enough, though, he started to look for a shelter of any kind. The shops nearby did not have much to offer for any overhangs, but several feet down he noticed a covered bus stop. Given the rising intensity of the thunderstorm and the lateness of the hour, there wasn't a single soul waiting there. It wasn't much, but it would be better than nothing.

"C'mon, this way," he said, his palm against the small of her back and guiding her towards it. They made it before the next crack of lightning could break.

"Gah, it's spraying," she cried, the wind starting to whip sideways and fan the droplets into the opening. Spotting the bench at the far end, Steve shuffled her in that direction, hands bracing her waist to hoist her up onto it.

"Here, on the bench," he offered, steadying her as she climbed up, her clutch dropped beside her feet. Quickly, he sidled to stand in front of her, shielding her from any further gusts of watery wind. There was only one minor flaw in the plan: Holly, at five-foot-seven, was a little too tall to stand comfortably on the planks. The bus stop was one of the older models, with a flat roof barely clearing over him. A dubious glance up told him she didn't trust it to accommodate her. Pitching forward, she had to bend at the waist to avoid hitting her head on the roof of the bus stop. Lack of balance and the slipperiness of her sandals on the grain had her almost falling over, were it not for his swift catch. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on the viewpoint) she crashed against him, arms slinging around his shoulders and suddenly giving him a much closer view of her cleavage. Swallowing hard, it took a stern inner rebuke to force his eyes away, looking up in time to see her start to break down into giggles. Slightly embarrassed, he felt his face heat up, no doubt flaring red.

Coughing once, he attempted to grin, brows lifting as she laughed. "What's so funny?"

Pink tinged her cheeks, her dark eyes lighting up as she tried to calm down.

"Just...I guess the universe decided to wait to throw that curve-ball, huh?" she murmured, a corner of her mouth lifting. Recalling her statement from several days ago, when she'd expected fate to shower down on them during the first date, he snickered and shook his head.

"Seems like it," he muttered. Another shot of lightning lit up the sky, the boom of thunder close behind, and the rain began to spit down harder than before. Holly jumped slightly, and Steve brushed his palms along her sides, his soothing efforts rewarded with small grin. Another spray rushed in, hitting Steve fully along his back and legs, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not too much.

"As fun as that was, I kinda regret getting soaked through now," Holly mumbled. She pulled back enough to look down at herself. Smatterings of dirt had splashed onto her legs when she'd dashed out, slipping under the straps of her sandals and between her toes. The sodden black material of her dress was heavy and slightly uncomfortable, sticking to her thighs and knees. Twitching her hips a little to shake the folds loose, she canted her head. "Good thing I wasn't wearing white."

Lightning flashed again, the roll of thunder taking a little longer to follow. As she chanced a glance over her shoulder to look, she missed the brief darkening of Steve's gaze, the flash of desire on his features. A perfect visualization surfaced in his mind, of what clinging white cloth would enhance, what it could reveal about her figure. His eyes raked over her once more, and he struggled against the thickness in his throat, against the heat pooling inside him.

"...Sure," he managed to gasp eventually, forcing himself to stop, to meet her eyeline when she faced him again. Her brown eyes wavered, looking at the state of his person. The blue of his shirt had darkened, the cut of it making it adhere and accentuate the muscles of his arms and torso when wet. Briefly, her gaze flicked further down, allowing herself the thought that perhaps wearing jeans was a choice he regretted now, soaked and heavy as she imagined them to be. Scanning his face again, the fall of his wet, blond hair sticking to his forehead, she felt a flush of heat run through her. A blush stained her cheeks as she considered how she must have appeared to him, and she snorted.

"Either way, I probably look like a drowned rat," she said, rolling her eyes at herself. Removing one hand from his shoulder, she traced her thumb under her eyes in an attempt to clean up the liner that had started to run. A half grin came to her lips, a weak chuckle had at her own expense. The words were an invitation to indulge in her self-deprecation, but he ignored it. Instead, he reached up, a finger twining around a loose strand of her hair. The soaked, dark waves were stark against his skin, and after a moment, he tenderly tucked it behind her ear. Callused pads ran along the curve of her jaw, his intense blue gaze causing a stray shiver to shoot down her spine.

"I don't think so," he breathed, the words ghosting over her lips mere seconds before his mouth followed. All night, he'd been hoping to kiss her again, to claim another moment like the one they'd had when he'd brought her home the last time. This time, though, he would be the one to initiate. Gently, he pressed his advantage, her sigh of contentment sparking through his veins. Arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders as he sipped sweetly at her mouth, her body leaning into him and almost knocking him off his feet. Carefully, he held onto her, bringing her off the bench to stand firmly on the ground and never breaking contact. Flattening his palms, he brought her closer, the length of her body flush and molding along his. She shifted, the brush of her hips sending a jolt through him. He felt the glide of her hand as it slid up the back of his neck, into his hair. Guided by the light tug on the short strands, he tilted his head to the side, a shudder shooting down his back when he felt the sweep of her tongue at the seam of his lips. Gasping, he hesitantly opened up to her, an unbidden moan rising as she slipped in, sliding gently along his own before removing it. Enticed, he chased after it, his hands clumsily coursing up and down the soaked back of her dress as he did so.

Breaking apart some time later, he inhaled deeply, feeling her shaky breaths as her chest rose and fell against his. Opening his eyes slowly, Steve smiled down at Holly, warmth spreading out from his heart as he looked at her. Stretching a hand up, she stroked his wet hair off his forehead tenderly. Feeling a bit mischievous, he took it as a cue to shake some of the droplets out, laughing a little as she shrieked and tried to twist out of the way. His grip on her was not easily broken, and soon enough he stopped, her arms looping around him again with an easy intimacy. For a minute or two, they stood there, silently drinking in the sight of each other and listening as the storm continued around them.

"Do you think it's gonna let up anytime soon?" he wondered, jerking his chin up at the patter of raindrops on the roof of the bus stop.

"God, I hope not," she whispered, fingers curling into his collar, noses bumping as she pulled him down for another kiss.

Awhile later, the storm finally began wear down, but the passing of time hardly mattered to either of them.

It took Steve less than a few minutes after it ended to ask Holly out for the next date. And it took less than a few seconds for her to say yes.


End file.
